Aurum
In the time it had taken Chanyeol to scurry across the fields and into the broomshed, the thousands of fragmented thoughts that usually crowded his mind scattered away, leaving him uncharacteristically focused.
Nobody used this shed; it was an ancient dilapidated thing, far from the Quidditch field and a little too close to the Forbidden Forest. To him, it was perfect.
The golden afternoon dust suspended lazily in the air, only slightly disturbed by his hasty entrance. Soft warm light streamed in from the cracks in the walls and washed the overgrown interior. As he picked his way through the dry detritus, the air seemed to hold its breath. “Golden hour,” he heard Joonmyun echo, “The magic hour.”
Rummaging through his robes’ deep pockets, he pulled out the magazine with nervous hands. Its cover was worn glossy, a little creased along the corners. The couple on the cover stared off to his left, haughty and lifelike, frozen in time. It was a Muggle magazine.
“Blimey, why are you carrying that garbage around?” Baekhyun groaned. “Wait, let me guess: another prize for your collection?”
“Shh!” hissed Chanyeol, “Obviously. And Mum doesn’t know, so don’t muck it up.”
Baekhyun mouthed ‘sorry!’ and mimed zipping his mouth and chucking the keys into an empty suit of armor.
His “collection” was a dodgy hobby that had started late last year. It’s not like he was really afraid his parents would find out--they probably suspected anyway--but mum become his code for “the other boys in the dorm.” He wasn’t stupid. He knew that flaunting his fascination for Muggle toys would just invite trouble. There were some that thought they had a reputation to keep up with the Ministry, as if they had reputations to speak of, as if the Minister bothered with boys like them.
The Ministry, he cringed. Full of stuffy old blokes, content in their silly ways, who couldn’t see beyond their own noses. Adults never listen to anything they don’t want to hear.
He tried, once. When he was ten, he sent a letter to the Minister of Magic with twenty-three reasons why the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy should be reconsidered, starting from, “1. I saw a real alive Muggle before and they look just like you and me except for the clothes but I think they are nice people, and we could be wickd friends,” to “23. When I learn magic I could help them with stuff and maybe inex change they can give me one of those moveys.”
He never got a reply.
Of course if he could rewrite the letter now, he would omit some things (and maybe give it to Joonmyun to check his spelling), but it didn’t change the fact that they were all Grown-ups and his opinion of them could hardly be improved. Chanyeol’s parents said it was for the Muggles’ own good and that the Minister knew best, but Chanyeol knew better. Squibs were around magic just fine, and they were allowed to talk to Muggles. Why couldn’t Chanyeol talk to Muggles? He had great ideas. And he would do it too, only he didn’t want to go to Azkaban.
The air crackled and sparked with the injustice. He looked down at the crushed magazine in his hands and breathed out noisily. Someday.
The sky was growing dark and the hour would be over soon; he had to hurry. Chanyeol circled around an upturned crate, pushing away the dead brush with his wand. Where was it again? He paused to consider a particularly large tangle and muttered doubtfully, “Reveli..o...?”
A puff of air stirred some leaves by his feet and uncovered a small box, his precious. Delighted by his great luck (because he wasn’t entirely sure it was his charm that did it), he began rummaging through the treasure: a Comic Book from Baekhyun, a Lighter, a thin blue rectangle that said “mussel” on the front, and some knickknacks he couldn’t remember the names of. He flicked the Lighter a few times, grinning at the white gold flame. It burned hot for such a small fire. He had no idea how it all worked, and Baekhyun didn’t either, huffing, “Well, do you know how magic works? It just does, ok.” Anyway, he liked playing with the Lighter. It helped with his fidgeting. Too bad he couldn’t do it outside.
Chanyeol placed it gently back into the box with a sigh and studied the magazine again. He still hadn’t read it, beyond riffling through the first pages. It wasn’t the words he was interested in, but the pictures. The colors were so vivid and the people looked so much crisper than the black and white magical photos in the Daily Prophet. They seemed like they should be able to move and walk off the pages, but their eyes were hollow and unblinking. It was supremely morbid.
He ran his fingers down the face of one person, thrumming with excitement, daring her to flinch. She didn’t even spare him a glance. Too crazy. Chanyeol didn’t understand how this didn’t blow anyone else’s mind. He couldn’t wait to start Muggle Studies next year and finally have an excuse for his secret. It was too tiring to forever be hiding these things.
A shadow passed overhead through the partially collapsed roof and jerked him from his reverie. There was hardly any gold left in the skies. He had lingered too long. Shoving everything back into the box and throwing some leaves on top, he pointed his wand at his palm and recited with ease, “Caeruleus Inflamarae.”
A cool bluebell jumped onto his palm, tingly and bright. He carefully directed the fireball into the overturned lantern by the door, and picked it up forlornly. Too blue, too cold. He already missed his small flame.
He quickly latched the door shut, just as the sun was swallowed up. Maybe in the morning he would feel a little pathetic about his treasure box, but for now this shed was his kingdom.
And the humming inside seemed to grow stronger with his offering.